Quiet Love
by Charlee Bleu
Summary: TRILOGY: He was silent, calculating, careful, methodical and patient, that was how he did things. Making her fall in love with him was no exception.
1. Training Wheels

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

**Part 1: Training Wheels**

O

o

O

Hermione was pissed. Her colleagues swerved to avoid the angry witch, muttering furiously to herself as the stalked to the lifts. Her meeting had been a complete and utter disaster, everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong and it was all Draco Malfoy's fault. Not only had he arrived nearly half an hour late without so much as an excuses, but when the meeting finally got on, he interrupted her speech several times, he made fun of her charts and lists, he viciously criticized her every point and the worst part was he nothing but professional and _so bloody_ polite. Draco Malfoy had singlehandedly ruined her presentation, he made her look like a fool in front of several department Heads and the _Properties and Assets Bureau_ representative at a meeting that took months to coordinate. It had taken her nearly three months for the Ministry to grant her the time and an audience with whom to plead her case and another two weeks to get them to actually meet.

When the lifts arrived, with the exception of the attendant, they were empty and for that she was grateful. She stepped in and gruffly requested to be taken down to the basement level.

He was an ungrateful, conniving, sarcastic bastard. After everything they had been through, he turned around stabbed her in the back. She chastised herself for not seeing it. Stupid her for thinking him anything but a slimy, little ferret. She was going to give Draco Malfoy a piece of her mind.

* * *

Nearly four years ago, she had hesitantly extended an olive branch to Draco Malfoy when he had come to work at the Ministry with the suspicious title of Deputy Head of the _Department of Mysteries_. At first, when she spoke to him, she only received curt nods, blank stares and - on good days - one word answers. For the first six months, he spoke to no one - not that anyone tried - but his superiors and his secretary, and even then, it was only when addressed, directly. It wasn't until half-way through his second year when the _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures _was alerted to rapid disappearance of Unicorns and rumours of an underground centre where they were being kept captive for breeding and the exploitation of their hair, skin, horns and blood, that they were thrown together.

Their success on that one case caused their paths to cross a lot more often. Unless he was presenting proposals and arguments, he still didn't talk much, he preferred to '_stand back and observe_'. That's what he said, but that didn't stop Hermione from talking to him. Most of the time, she preferred it that way, she could go to him to rant, rave, complain and vent, and he'd let her. He wouldn't utter a single word until she '_calmed enough to see reason_' as he put.

They weren't friends per se, but they had lunch together at least once a week. They'd often call on each other when they needed back up in the bigger, more daunting, make or break meetings; the ones with all the board members, chairmen, international representatives and even the Minster himself. When they talked about things that were unrelated to work, the topics were superficial, neither wanting to delve too deep.

Due to their individual workloads, often times they would be the last ones to leave the Ministry. He would come up to her department when he was on his way out to insult and annoy her until she got too frustrated to work and was forced to pack up for the night. They would silently make their way down the atrium and through the doors where he would turn and say 'Goodnight, Granger' and disapparate. And even though he wasn't there to hear, she'd reply with an even 'You, too, Malfoy.'

They had developed a decent work relationship, she thought.

Until he went and turned against her.

* * *

When the lifts opened she was greeted by the dark, empty halls of the _Department of Mysteries_ and the click of her heels echoed as she made her way through the maze of corridors. After heading straight down the main corridor, taking one left, two rights and another left, she found her destination. She stepped into the waiting room and was about to make a beeline for the large, dark door with gold plate that read '_Deputy Head of the Department of Mysteries - Draco L. Malfoy_' at the end when a woman - his secretary- cleared her throat.

"Where is he?"

"Excuse me?"

She took a calming breath before speaking, "Malfoy. Where is he? I'd like to see him. Now."

"I'm sure you would, but you have to make an appointment, Miss Granger," she snipped, " just like every one else."

"Why? I know for a fact that he's free right now."

"That's not the poi-"

"Granger," his stern voice cut in, " I thought I heard you out here. Antagonising my secretary, again, I see."

She spun on her toes to face him. "You! You little-"

"Maybe," he said stepping aside, "we should take this inside." She glared at the secretary before stormed past, making sure to shove her shoulder into him.

He barely had time to put um privacy charms before she rounded on him.

"I can't believe you," she roared," you practically threw me under the bus!"

"I did no su-"

"Yes, you did! Cut the bull, Malfoy!"

"If you would si-"

"No, I will not sit! You probably poisoned the chair so I'd -"

"Poisoned the _chair_?" he repeated, clearly amused, "Granger that's ridiculous, how would I even go about doi-?"

"I don't know, but _you _would figure it out! A poisoned chair, it would be perfect! No one would suspect that!"

"Granger, I-"

"No, you listen here, Malfoy."

He gave up, then, deciding to let her get all out before he put in his piece. He'd never get a word in, not with her in this state. He sat back in his high-backed leather chair, which was far more comfortable that it looked, and watched and listened. She was in full rant mode now, talking about things of which he knew nothing, talking about loyalty and trust and all that tripe; switching from insulting him to cursing the Bureau rep who was half asleep the whole time to complaining about her un-supportive boss. He was sure she'd mumbled 'ferret' under her breath on more than one occasion as she went on and on and on, but he let it go.

"_ONE_ vote, Malfoy," she sighed, finally before she collapsed into the allegedly poisoned chair, "that's all I needed!"

"I know," he acknowledged quietly.

"Then why didn't you give me?"

"I-"

"It was 7-7, if you had voted for me, it would have gone through, but now it has to go through a deliberator! Do have any idea how long that will take?" She sank further into the chair.

After a few moments of silence, when he was sure she wasn't going to interrupted, he said, "I did vote for you."

"What?" she sat straight up and glowered at him, "No, you didn't!"

"Yes, I did."

"No. You didn't"

"Yes, I did. I wasn't the one who balanced the scales."

"Well, _if_ you really did voted for me, then why were you antagonising me the _entire_ time?!"

"I wasn't antag-"

"Really? Are you sure about that? Because you didn't miss any opportunity to point out every single _supposed_ flaw in my proposal!"

"I only pointed out what was there, Granger."

"Fine, let's assume there were discrepancies," she acquiesced, "you made fun of my charts, Malfoy. My bloody charts! Was that necessary?"

"Okay, well, maybe not," he said, slowly, eyeing her slumped form, "but you have to admit, red against an orange background is not fun to look at."

She let out a shriek, sprang from her seat and lunged for his desk, but Draco was closer and faster. He managed to swipe the parchment-weight and quill tray before she got a hold of either of them.

It wouldn't be the first time she tried to bludgeon him to death.

* * *

**Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Reviews are much appreciated!**


	2. Testing

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

**Part 2: Testing**

O

o

O

It was nearly eleven when Hermione made her way to Draco's office. This was the twelfth night in the last two months that Hermione found herself down there this late, armed with take-out and butterbeer. Draco had been working very late nights for the past two months, he was maximizing his time, that's what he told anyone who bothered to ask. Hermione knew better. She didn't think it a coincidence that Draco's late night-early morning working hours started just a week after his father's release from Azkaban. She didn't bring it up and she didn't knock.

"Hey," she greeted, standing at the door.

"This is the last one," he acknowledged, "I swear. It won't take long."

"It had better not. The food'll get cold."

"What is it today?" he asked, finally looking up.

"Chinese," when he raised his brow in question, she explained, " the Thai place was closing up when I got there."

The corners of his mouth quirked up to give her small smile. He did that more often these days, she couldn't help but smile back.

She remembered the first time he _really _smiled. Two months into his fifth year working at the Ministry. She had come to him, yet again, to vent. It was about how wasteful the Ministry employees were with stationary. She went on and on about how much less the monthly shipment of stationary would be if everyone was a little more careful with how much parchment and ink they used. At the end, when she'd lost steam, she slumped into the - _her_ - chair and made an offhand comment about how Harry and Ron didn't care enough to want to understand. After a few moments of silence, she cracked open her eyes to find him with his head cocked to the side, watching her and smiling. Hermione Granger had never thought of Draco Malfoy as 'adorable' - until that moment.

She shut the door and moved to the couch off to the side of his office to set up the food and drinks on his coffee table. True to his word, that was the last one and it didn't take long.

"What did you get?" he asked as he sat next her, reaching for his container.

"The only thing you'll eat from that place."

"Sweat and Sour Chicken and noodles, then."

"Mhm."

They ate and drank in comfortable silence.

* * *

They were friends, ever since the New Year's Eve Ball. She had all but begged him to escort her, he said he had 'no intentions of bringing in the new year with a bunch of pompous, old buggers' then shooed her to go off a swindle some other bloke into taking her.

He held firm for two weeks before he agreed, he made sure to tell her it was only because boss had told him his presence was mandatory and not because she had worn him down. That didn't stop her from squealing and throwing her arms around his shoulders. Before rushing off to a meeting, she told him, "Crimson and Silver, so match," over her shoulder.

Hermione didn't feel as bad as she should have when she cancelled on 'the other bloke' she had swindled into taking her, Ron would understand.

* * *

He talked now. Opened up, just a bit. They talked about small things. Things that didn't seem to be more than idle chatter. She learned that he still flew, every weekend on his Quidditch pitch. Yes, he had his own personal, private Quidditch pitch. She had lectured for a minute and twenty-nine seconds - yes, he counted - about how unnecessary that was.

He told her of how he jinxed Henry Johnson, from three corridors down, to trip on the first step he took every time he stepped out of the lifts for a month because 'he took the last blueberry muffin from the department snack cart _knowing_ damn well that it was mine' and it didn't matter that is was a First come-First served system. He scowled at her when she started laughing uncontrollably. She laughed so hard that day, till there were tears in her eyes, till her tummy hurt, till she looked like mute, clapping seal. It wasn't so much what he had done but because he had said it in all solemnity, he was _genuinely _upset about his muffin. She deduced that blueberry muffins were his favourite kind of muffin.

The next morning, when he entered his office, he found a hot, freshly-baked blueberry muffin sitting on his desk with a note that read, '_Leave poor Henry alone._' it wasn't signed, but he knew.

She found he preferred orange juice over pumpkin juice, coffee over tea, loved anything made of chocolate - except chocolate ice cream, it was disgrace, according to him. She told him he was crazy.

He admitted that he only kept his secretary - he still didn't know her name, but was sure it started with 'K' - because Tracy Gordon, from five corridors down, hated her more than she liked him, so she never bothered him in his office. On her way out she saw his secretary's nameplate. There wasn't a single 'K' in her name, not even a 'C'.

She learned his favourite colours - blue, Navy Blue and grey, Battleship Grey. She made him guess which were her favourite. She huffed and halfheartedly glared when he guessed right on the first try.

It wasn't until the end of the day, as they walked out of the Ministry doors on another late night that told her his guess wasn't really a guess because he had already known when she asked.

After that, they talked more, about other things. Things like crazy exes, awkward first kisses, childhood scars and weird dreams. They talked about things that weren't so small anymore.

* * *

The New Year's Eve Ball wasn't half as bad as they had thought it would be. Hermione laughed, drank, ate, made fun of the pathetic attempts older men made to hide bald spots and receding hairlines. She even managed to trick him into dancing. Draco watched as she laughed with a poorly concealed half smile on his lips, he drank and made fun of the extent older women went to hide wrinkles and sagging parts. He even let her trick him into dancing.

They spent the entire Ball glued to each other's sides. They didn't notice, but everyone else did.

And when the clock struck midnight and fireworks, courtesy of _Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes_, went off, he pulled her close, kissed her on the cheek and disapparted with a gentle, "Happy New Year, Hermione Granger."

He didn't hear her whispered, " You too, Draco."

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, tell me, how'd I do with this one?**


	3. Taking Off

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

* * *

**Part 3: Taking Off**

O

o

O

He had come to the conclusion that being friends with Hermione Granger meant a lot of - what he deemed to be unnecessary - physical contact. It took months for him to stop flinching when she touched him and tensing when she hugged him. It took even longer for him to reciprocate and he was just learning that it was okay to initiate. She was soft and smelled of vanilla, honey and something else that was mildly sweet. He found he didn't mind her being close to him - not much.

He visited her office now - in the day time - for lunch and sometimes for nothing, much to the annoyance of her secretary. He didn't know her name either, but he thinks it starts with an 'A'.

It doesn't.

She talked about him to her friends and to anyone who spent any significant amount of time in her company. She talked about him_, too much_, at least that was what Ron said. He snapped at her last Thursday after she said his name 'ten times in the last hour!' - allegedly. She huffed when Ginny and Harry quietly agreed and apologised, tersely.

She managed to not say anything Draco related for half an hour. Ron was not impressed.

* * *

On Friday evenings, around eight-thirty, they leave the Ministry - together. They go to the _Three Broomsticks_ and sit in the corner booth, the one near the back just opposite the loo, and talk.

He would tell her of all the ways Garry Jefferson Jr. from Level Four has asked him out that week. She would laugh and tell him, jokingly, 'Garry's a good fellow, give him a chance'. He would respond with a 'I would, but right now I'm into brunettes' and smirk when her cheeks coloured red.

She would tell him all her theories to explain why her Head of Department allows the Deputy Head to keep his job without doing any real work. Draco thinks it's because he's sleeping with the Head. She tells him that he is wrong because her Head of Department isn't gay, and his eyes nearly pop out of his skull when she causally adds, 'besides, he's having an affair with Pepper Lawson from Law Enforcement'.

They never drink. They never eat. And at ten they leave pub - together.

Once outside, Hermione would take hold of his hand - not his arm like she did the first seven times - and apparate to the alley two blocks from her apartment in Muggle London.

oOo

Draco didn't know she lived in a Muggle neighbourhood until the first time they appeared in the alley. When he realised, he promptly apparated them back to entrance of the pub and told her in no uncertain terms she was never to take him to anywhere Muggle, again.

She argued, of course."You're being ridiculous, Draco!"

"I am not! I just don't want to go there."

"Why not?"

"Because...I said so."

"That's not a good reason, Draco."

He remained quiet and glared at her.

"You do know that's where the take-out food comes from, right?"

"I know," he answered gruffly.

"So, you'll eat their food, but you refuse to go where they are?" she asked incredulously.

He said nothing, but looked away, choosing to glare at passers-by.

"Ugh," she grunted in exasperation, "it's after ten, it's unlikely that we'll bump into any Muggles at this time of night,"

It was a while before he said, "If there are, we'll cross the street?"

She smiled brightly then and grabbed his arm, "Okay."

When they reappeared in the alley, she held him at wand point - just in case he tried to escape - the whole walk to her apartment. Indignant, he argued and threatened to turn her in for kidnapping if she didn't 'stop pointing that bloody stick' at him. She ignored him, of course, kept her wand to his chest and told him to get moving. He had to fight to keep the scowl on his face when she slipped her soft hand back into his.

oOo

On Friday nights, she showed him how to work Muggle devices, one device a week. Last week he learnt about the microwave. This week he would learn about the coffee machine. She had a feeling he would like that one the most.

After she gave him his weekly 'Advanced Muggle Studies lesson', they sipped on wine and nibbled on butter cookies while sitting on her drawing room floor with their backs against her lumpy sofa. The television would be on mute and they would talk. They talked about private things, like nightmares and fears and family struggles.

He told her about his parents, about his father and how badly Azkaban had affected him and how his mother is just barely coping. She told him about her parents, about how her mother compulsively writes down everything, _just in case_, and how her father sometimes forgets her name.

One night they even spoke about the War, before and just after, and how it had been - on _both_ sides.

She traced his faded Dark Mark.

He could barely look at her Mudblood scar.

They talked now, about many things. Most were not secrets, but some of them were.

* * *

It was ten-thirty five in the evening and Hermione was on still on a high. She had been on cloud nine since lunch when she was informed that she was being strongly considered for a promotion to Deputy Head of the _Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures -_ she didn't ask why the position was suddenly available. He listened while she spoke dreamily of all the things she was going to do with her new position and power. When he reminded her that she hadn't actually gotten it, yet, she waved him off and told him nothing he said would ruin her mood.

They were stepping into the atrium from the lifts and Hermione, caught up in her premature excitement, made a misstep that sent her tumbling to the ground. And Draco - for all his prim and proper, high-society breeding - took one look at her gracelessly sprawled form and promptly burst into laughter. He had his head thrown back and his laughter, rich and deep, echoed throughout the empty space. Hermione had only ever heard him laugh like that twice before. She wondered, not for the first time, what his voice sounded like in the mornings just after waking up. She was mesmerised.

Until she remembered he was laughing _at_ her.

"Draco Malfoy, you absolute git!" she cursed, feeling the sting of embarrassment.

"I'm so, so sorry," he managed between the residual chuckles of his dying laughter.

"You are the worst," she huffed, "you jinxed me!"

"I swear, I did not," he defended, still smiling, "you are just very clumsy."

When she gathered her things, he offered her a hand and pulled her up. He didn't let her go. She didn't pull away. They stood like that, close, for awhile, enjoying each other's proximity. He smelled like forest rain, polished wood, new leather and something expensive.

It was the echoes of the night guard's whistling that pulled them out of each other and out of themselves. She stepped away first, face flushed, looking down, and mumbling something about bad timing. He smirked and took her hand.

Outside, they stood together, both looking at nothing and still holding hands. Before turning to leave, he touched the index finger of his unoccupied hand to her chin and gently, pulled her face up. She stared up at him with glassy, doe eyes; a pretty blush still painted her cheeks. They gazed into each other's eyes for a moment before he pressed his mouth to her tooth-dented lips.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said quietly, and pressed his lips to hers once more.

She tasted like butterbeer and strawberry lip balm.

He tasted like wine and butterscotch.

"You, too, Draco." Then he disappeared with a small _pop_.

She appeared in her alley, a smile across her face with one thing running through her head;

_He stayed._

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, this is the third and last part. However, I'm thinking about adding an epilogue. Anyway, thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated. :)**


End file.
